


the -space- inbetween

by DaxDingus



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Asexual Romance, M/M, Multi, ace nick, everyone in fallout is gay and trans, nonbinary sole, once he's introduced, smooch the synth softly, trans hancock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaxDingus/pseuds/DaxDingus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Humor me this one time, for Goodneighbour spirit.”</p><p>Quinn moved into his personal space, one hand leaning on the edge of the bar. Quinn always spoke about the energy of place, of people, and their relation to God. Nick didn’t personally understand, but he appreciated that someone could have that much hope.</p><p>“...of the people. And right now Nick, I’m your people.”</p><p>“Oh, charming Quinn. Get that one from Hancock himself?”</p><p>Quinn let out a barking laugh. Nick let himself smile.</p><p>___</p><p>Drabbles of Sole Survivor Quinn, a southern nb black musician, and Nicky dancing around their relationship. (literally and figuratively) Eventually Nick/Sole/Hancock and Sole/Hancock will be introduced. For now, grandparent detectives of the wasteland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the -space- inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted fan fic in nearly two years! And I'm rusty. I didn't have a beta for this, so let me know if you spot anything. I'm excited to share! 
> 
> Quinn is nonbinary, but at this point in his story he hasn't explored that identity, thus himself and people in life will still refer to Quinn as male.
> 
> Quinn looks like (around 5'4, late 40s):
> 
> http://daxdingus.tumblr.com/post/142997321084
> 
> Song in the fic:
> 
> https://youtu.be/Mc6L5ykEytY

The drummer started a slow swing. The ghoul percussionist wiggled her would be eyebrows, and the saxophone player laughed before they joined into the groove. Magnolia smiled at her group, a soft laugh echoing in the mic as she approves their next choice in song.

 

The Cool Ghouls set the pace of a slow song, it’s intoxication soothing the audience.

 

Quinn was dragged into the previous dance with Hancock, and it had been fast and fun. Nick had watched on from the end of the bar, smiling at the two having fun. That one move of nearly throwing Quinn under the Mayors legs was impressive and plainly showing off what they do behind closed doors. A bit much for Nick.

 

But the Sanctuary Sniper had spotted him. Nick knew that look, and he _didn’t_ like it.

 

“Dance with me Nick.”

 

Quinn's voice was slow and drawl heavy. As he reached out to his hand, the bot looked at him questioningly.

 

“Think you’ve had a few too many swigs of that nasty swill behind the bar, and forgot you were asking  _ me _ .”

 

The saxophone was singing a soft song, the drummer slow in rhythm, but a steady even pace. Magnolia swaying slowly as the instrumentals rose and fall. 

 

“Humor me this one time, for Goodneighbour spirit.”

 

Quinn moved into his personal space, one hand leaning on the edge of the bar. Quinn always spoke about the energy of place, of people, and their relation to God. Nick didn’t personally understand, but he appreciated that someone could have that much hope.

 

“...of the people. And right now Nick, I’m  _ your  _ people. _ ” _

 

“Oh, charming Quinn. Get that one from Hancock himself?”

 

Quin let out a barking laugh. Nick let himself smile. 

 

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Hancock.” Nick took a drag. 

 

“Maybe, but I think I just haven’t spent enough time with you Nick. And I know just the trick to fix that.”

 

Quinn motioned his head to the dance area, a few tables and chair pushed away to get more room to the music.

 

It’s not as if they hadn’t dance before, just not in front of such a  _ interactive  _ audience. They danced when Quinn’s pain levels allowed him a day of peace. But usually it was in the privacy of Quinn room, unsure feet avoiding the overflowing pile of holotapes. The disorganized library of music decorating the floor. Or in a small audience and musicians of Sanctuary in the Music Shack, automated upright piano thrumming in the background. 

 

He knew Quinn was pushing it, like he always does. 

 

The saxophone player took time to sing sweet melodies of the song to the audience. Getting flashy with scales and patterns. Nick  thinking back to listening to experimental jazz back in Quinn’s modified holotape player.

 

Nick rolled his cigarette around his lips as he contemplated. They had been more established in what they had, whatever  _ this  _ was between them. More than friends, trust running deeper than any partner he had, vague but honest to god flirting, a gravitation to be in his company. Even when Nick knew better than to stick around...

 

Well, it was impossible to not be warmed by the sun. 

 

“Alright…” He took a drag of his cigarette “As long as we aren’t doing any of the  _ moves  _ you two were doing earlier.” Nick vaguely pointed to the crowd of people where Hancock had been swallowed up, smoke trailing after Nick’s hand.

 

The smaller man smiled, practically glowing.

 

“Promise Nick.”

 

With a grunt, Nick leaned over and smashed out his cigarette onto the bar ashtray. After adjusting his hat  _ just _ so, he let Quinn take his metal hand. And Magnolia’s gentle voice began to settle down across the old subway tunnel.

 

_ “Let's fall in love _

_ Why shouldn't we fall in love? _

_ Our hearts are made of it _

_ Let's take a chance _

_ Why be afraid of it” _

 

The Soul of Sanctuary took the Detective of Diamond City’s hand into his. He smiled up to Nick, and slowly let their finger fall in between one another. Calloused fingertips embracing scuffed metal joints.

 

It fell in easy. Nick placed his covered hand onto Quinn’s waist, and the man mirrored his action. They swayed slowly to the music. Nick wasn’t sure when this space between the man he had met in a vault was so familiar, so close to a life he never really lived.

 

_ “Let's close our eyes and make our own paradise _

_ Little we know of it, still we can try _

_ To make a go of it” _

  
  


Nick’s memory data started rolling. Dark puffing under his eyes from exhaustion, his face sharp from a lack of fat on his bones, thin bony hands cradling a modified sniper rifle closer to his side than any person, and eyes that stared distantly into a world that wasn't there.

 

Now, a few years later (and some food in his stomach for god’s sake), his laugh lines were deeper, scars fresher, his hands scabbed from building walls,  fingers always nimble from tinkering in guns and plucking instruments to sing for him, and a gentle laugh that could reassure a dying man that it was going to be alright.

 

_ “We might have an end for each other _

_ To be or not be _

_ Let our hearts discover” _

 

Quinn leaned into Nick, and placed his head softly into Nick’s breast plate. Nick put his chin gently on top the smaller man’s head, the crook of his tattered neck fitting into the space with practiced  ease.

 

Nick smelled the oil that Quinn used to style his tight curls, the grime from fixing guns, and the lavender he always had in his coat pocket. All centering around one, distinct feeling of Quinn.

  
  


_ “Let's fall in love _

_ Why shouldn't we fall in love?” _

 

With sureness in where his heart used to lay in flesh in blood, the space between Quinn.... The air always a little warmer, a little brighter, a little lighter to breath through metal lungs. 

  
It was home.


End file.
